


In The Still Hours

by TheSpasticFantastic



Series: When All Is Lost [24]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Adult Relations, But This is Definitely a "Dealing With The State of the World" fic, F/M, they're married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpasticFantastic/pseuds/TheSpasticFantastic
Summary: Iduna feels haunted on her wedding night.
Relationships: Agnarr/Iduna (Disney)
Series: When All Is Lost [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571230
Comments: 17
Kudos: 17





	In The Still Hours

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fericita is why I can't just let nice things alone.
> 
> Also, there's a pandemic and lots of civil unrest drama and fan fiction is always cheaper than therapy.

Iduna squeezed her eyes shut against the darkness and brought her right pointer finger between her teeth. Trying to stifle the low keen that she could not kill in her throat, she used her palm to muffle the sound and bit down hard to try and distract herself from the persistent ache in her chest. Agnarr had mentioned a similar technique to her before, something about biting the inside of his mouth when he wanted to suppress an emotion. She had thought it barbaric. Feelings were meant to be . . .well, felt. But in this moment, in the suffocating stillness and the darkness of the new moon that matched her new marriage, she could understand wanting complete mastery. 

To conceal.

To hide the waves of sadness that had swamped her unexpectedly from her new husband, who lay motionless an arm’s length away. She knew his day had started as early as hers, long before the dawn broke. The maids had roused her for a hot bath, a final fitting during which a talented seamstress had made the last few adjustments which Agnarr would later tell her were so stunning that he had stopped breathing when she entered the Chapel. Her hair had been pulled back so tightly, and so many pins had been applied to try and tame her wavy mane, that her scalp still stung even though Agnarr had taken her hair down hours ago.

It had felt good, the sensation of his hands in her hair and his fingertips massaging her scalp. Almost all of it had felt good. They had waited long enough, longer than she would have if she had been married in the land of her birth. She wasn’t certain exactly _when_ she had stopped thinking of the forest as home, but the longer she had known Agnarr, had been courted by him – he had become her home. Her comfort. Where he was, was where she longed to return. Longed to be. And finally, after all of that waiting and the endless ceremony with the droning Bishop and the excessive pageantry that had crescendoed with him placing a crown atop her head and the guests in the pews shouting “Long Live the Queen!” – after all of that, finally, she had her time to be with him.

It was so rare to have him all to herself. She knew better than most how he worked himself to the point of exhaustion for the good of the kingdom. But from the moment they had formally excused themselves from the wedding banquet in their honor – giving one final, pink-cheeked wave to the crowd, to Elias and Henrik and Greet and Maddie who hoisted their glasses – to Captain Calder and Lady Wollen who smiled broadly and led the crowd in applause – he had been hers. And hers alone.

Agnarr had held her hand the entire length of the walk to their bed chamber. Although the guests might have been left behind, the castle guards were still posted at strategic points – including Askel Runde for whom she had no desire to scandalize. But as soon as they were alone, the door closed and locked behind them, it was as though he had forgotten he even had a kingdom, so intent was his focus upon her.

To be fair to her husband – _husband!_ – she had been so eager that when he had tried to be a gentleman, he hadn’t made it beyond “We don’t-“ before she cut him off with an eager kiss. And he had readily matched and surpassed her eagerness as they started with what they knew, what they were already good at, and sped towards horizons unknown. There had been moments of hesitation, of awkwardness laughed off with good humor and loving caresses – she had found his aggravated tirade against the number of delicate buttons running down the back of her dress especially funny – but it had all been much, much better than she had anticipated.

She had dreamt of it, of course, fantasized about becoming one with Agnarr since she had been old enough to understand and yearn for such things, but she had not honestly believed that the reality of it – of two inexperienced people discovering both the act while discovering one another at the same time – would be as satisfying as it had been. He had been gentle and considerate and still managed to make her feel as though she was on fire to the point where she kicked off the stifling duvet as she gasped against him. The champagne might have touched her head a bit and left her giddy, but that was nothing compared to Agnarr’s bare skin against her and the inferno he stoked as he moved. It had burned so quickly, so intensely that she could still hear his hiss in her ears from when she had pulled a hand through his hair to the point of pain.

There had been a bit of discomfort. His proximity as he hovered over her had been unexpectedly overwhelming, but she had simply closed her eyes and clung to him. The noises had been amusing enough that she had laughed into his shoulder at one point and she definitely hadn’t expected things to end quite as messy as they did - which had left him rather mortified. But he had been quick with a cool cloth and then wrapped his arms around her as they settled under the sheets and quilts. It had been a long day, as exhausting as it was joyous. He was asleep within minutes, the solid weight of his arm draped over her waist where he had pulled her against him.

And then, as the silence descended, the weight of the day had crashed upon her.

She had been wed. To a king. More importantly, to Agnarr.

And though she had friends and acquaintances and well-wishers in the church that day, and a man who she loved to the very marrow of her in her bed that night, aside from that recently acquired husband she’d had no family. The realization that caught in her throat, that choked her, that brought her hand up to grip Agnarr’s wrist so tightly that he grunted in his sleep, was not the rush of grief of their absence – but that she’d hardly thought of them in the weeks leading up to her wedding.

Her father. Her brothers. Her mother.

She had been so lost in writing the correspondences she was expected to send and approving the decorations and dress fittings and celebratory dinners and balls that she’d scarcely had time to think of anything but the preparations. And when she did have free time, she thought of Agnarr and the life she hoped to build with her best friend. The children she dreamed they would have.

But almost nothing of the people who had raised her, who she had given up forever in the moments after she had saved him.

It had taken several minutes to extract herself from his embrace. Every time she tried to move away, he followed her in his sleep, mumbling and making soft sounds as his hands found hers again and again. When she finally did free herself, she saw him shiver and tucked him gently under the heavy quilt before pulling the sheet around her shoulders. Cross-legged, head bowed, she tried to sob with all the silence the night held. It wasn’t Agnarr’s fault that she felt this way. It never had been his fault. She would not diminish his happiness with her melancholy.

The restlessness stirred by her warring loyalties were nothing new. She had simply been so caught up in the festivities, in her unabashed joy at knowing that she would be Agnarr’s and that he would be hers, that her tendency towards ambivalent ruminations had quieted for some time. Perhaps that was why this grief and guilt was so fresh and seemed so new. 

From the day she had finally given up on breaking through the Mist and going home, she had tried to bury her family in her heart. She knew that if she could not be with them, they would want her safe and happy. And Agnarr kept her safe and made her very happy. Were it not for who he was, who his father was, she could rest easy in the knowledge that she was simply making the best of a situation that was beyond her control. She was trapped. She might as well stay alive and, beyond surviving, build a life. But Agnarr was Runeard’s son, heir to a legacy of questionable violence – she still might not be certain who had started the bloodshed, but there was no doubt that Arendellian soldiers had been quick to draw their weapons and use them readily against her people.

Iduna was certain she knew what Lemek would think, would _do_ , if he could see her now. But what of the others? Her father might enjoy Agnarr’s stories. He had been quite the story teller himself. And her mother . . .well, wouldn’t her mother want to see her happy? To know that she was with a man who loved and treated her so well? 

“Mama,” she whispered and her voice cracked. She wiped her cheeks against her knees. In the forest, a young bride often spent the night before her wedding with the women of her family. Her mother, grandmothers, sisters, aunts and cousins. The royal wedding had been a huge event. The mob of happy faces and cheerful guests had reminded her of Northuldra weddings as a child when everyone would come from everywhere, travelling for weeks if necessary, to celebrate the bride and groom who were starting their new life together. But last night, she had slept alone in her room, in a separate wing from Agnarr, after Maddie and Greet had retired for the evening.

She took a shuddering breath.

Would they be mad? Would they be mad that she had done so well in blending in that she had married a man beyond reproach or suspicion? Would they feel betrayed that she had not married for safety, but because she had completely given her heart to the son of the man who brought war to their home? If they could see her now, would they be relieved and glad that she had survived the battle? Or would they be hurt and betrayed by how fully she had given herself to their enemy?

One final invasion.

A fresh surge of tears burned, unbidden, and she bit down on her hand again. But then, Agnarr shifted, let out a soft sigh, and she heard him murmur her name. Iduna froze and watched as one of his hands reached out, sleepily searching for her in the dark, groping at the empty blankets and mattress. He looked so young and so alone that she couldn’t help but reach out for him in turn, running her fingers along his palm as he smiled in his sleep and gently grasped her hand, enveloping it in his. He mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out before bringing her hand against his lips and then going still. She couldn’t help but smile as she smoothed his moustache and let herself relax once more against the pillows, her thumb stroking his cheek with a steady rhythm.

“I love you,” she whispered, and just as the mist had descended suddenly and permanently, the words settled in her heart, banishing her painful ruminations. She curved her body into his and slipped into sleep, all other thoughts melted away into the night.


End file.
